The Sharpest Lives
by TheGallifreyanWinchesterOf221B
Summary: Sherlock comes out of a book. The Doctor visits their motel. Looks like a normal night for the Winchesters
1. The Book and The Box

_**A/N: Yesh, the title is from a My Chemical Romance song :) as always, thanks to my lovely beta reader AbnormalOwl! :)**_

"Alright, you know the drill." John Winchester said as he put his duffel bag on his shoulder, his left hand on the knob.

"Shoot first, ask questions later and watch out for Sammy." A fifteen year-old Dean answered.

"That's my man." John said and got out of the motel room they were currently staying at. Dean locked the door after him and walked back to Sammy's bed, the boy was already sound asleep, still, Dean tucked his brother in and whispered, "Goodnight Sammy."

Dean proceeded to the kitchen, he drank a glass of water and brought another one with him and put it on his bedside. He dug under his pillows and found his book, smiling to himself, he placed a pillow on his lap and positioned the book on it.

He brushed imaginary dust off the cover of the book. Dean though it was stupid of course, but he loved that book, it's the first one he owned. He remembered buying it in a bookshop at Pontiac, Illinois and the owner of the shop –a daft old man- gave him the complete full series even when he barely had enough money to buy one. Not to mention he was lucky enough that John allowed him to carry the books around.

The book by the way, was the genius creation (even if the author admitted to not liking it himself, Dean always remembered that, but he could never blame the _awesome _author) of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle –The Sherlock Holmes novels.

Dean opened _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_, he had finished the _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _last night and he had to say, it was completely and absolutely riveting. He turned to the first chapter of the book; the first case, "Silver Blaze". _Oh interesting title, _Dean thought, sparing Sammy's sleeping form a glance before reading.

_"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning._

_"Go! Where to?"_

_"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."_

_I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted…_

Dean was deeply immersed to reading. At some point during the night, he put the pillow back on his head and laid on his back, his eyes never leaving the book. He was so into his reading he didn't seem to noticed a man in a long black trench coat was standing beside his bed.

"I suggest you pay attention to me now, we have a case to wrap up, Dean Winchester."

Dean turned his head to the direction of the voice, which was beside his bed. He looked up at the curly-haired man in front of him, he was wearing a long black trench coat and had sharp cheekbones making his eyes sharper. Dean gulped before saying: "Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, only one in the world, I invented the job." The man answered proudly.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean retorted, a smirk gracing his lips.

"Yes shit, Dean. Now get up, like I said we have a case to wrap up."

"No we don't! You're not real, I'm probably dreaming." Dean indignantly said, putting down his book and brushing his eyes as if the movement will make the man in front of him disappear. When the man didn't disappear, he started pinching his arms.

"You're not. You're not an idiot like most people are, Dean. Don't make me believe otherwise."

"I won't make you believe otherwise, Mr. Holmes. But you have to make me believe you're real first." Dean demanded as he continuously pinch his arm.

Sherlock looked exasperatedly at him but he sat on the edge of the bed. Dean scooted up and folded his legs beneath him, making more room for the man to sit. Dean looked at Sam's bed then quickly stood up, right hand going under the pillow in search for something. He gripped the gun he kept under his pillow tightly as he point it at the man sitting on his bed.

Sherlock ignored the gun and said "Your brother is in the kitchen. Studying."

"Its the middle of the fucking night, mister-"

"Yes, and you know your brother, he is a 'nerd' as you put it. I'm not lying to you, Dean. You can see for yourself." The man said, his fancy British accent was getting under his skin, but Dean thought, _if he really is Sherlock Holmes of course he will have a British accent, what the hell?! Shut up, Dean. That can't be true. He's something. A supernatural creature, yes, that's a perfectly sound-_

"I'm not a supernatural creature nor I am any kind of monster. I'm Sherlock Holmes, you've read about me. I'm real." Sherlock said. Dean glared at him accusingly, daring him to say more.

"How long?" Sherlock asked in a bored voice.

"You got three minutes before I empty a bullet to your brain." Dean answered.

"Not the brain, Dean, I value it greatly. Fine, you bloody well get this… Remember that bookstore you bought those books from? It was the first one that published the stories about me here in America, about 1900s, before the first World War. But there's more to it than that. I, myself can't explain it. But the copy you have is the last of the originals-"

"It's not old-looking enough." Dean interrupted.

"That's because it doesn't have to. What it needs to do is cope with the current environment to find an owner." Sherlock answered and he continued, "Like I said, the copy you own is the last of the originals, and it allowed me to get out into the real world." Sherlock finished, looking at the barrel of the gun Dean was holding in front of him.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?!" Dean answered frustratedly. It didn't make any sense, how could the 'last of the original copies' bring a fictional character into the real world?

"I dont know how, Dean. But it did. It brings me here, into your world. And don't tell me my appearance is wrong because you pictured me differently." Sherlock said, answering the question Dean didn't have a chance to voice out.

"Yeah, how do you know that?" Dean said, flexing his jaw as his patience started to grow thin.

"Because that book has had three past owners, children much younger than you described exactly how I looked: black curly hair, sharp cheekbones, lean body, piercing blue eyes, wears a long black trench coat over an impeccable suit. Those children's parents returned the books to the store, not believing their children's stories about me and fearing for their children's sanity."

"And you think my father won't fear for _my _sanity?" Dean asked incredulously.

"No, I expect that you won't tell him. Judging by his lack of presence and where you are currently staying I know for a fact that he hardly stays with you, except when transporting you from one place to another." Sherlock answered. "I know you're interested, Dean, and I know you're not as idiotic as you claim to be. Your brother, Sam. isn't the only one who has brains." he continued.

"No shit, Sherlock. Get out of here before I shoot you." Dean said.

"Well then, I guess I'll see you around, Dean Winchester." Sherlock said.

With a blink of an eye the man in front of him disappeared, Dean blinked a few more times then he scrambled to his feet. Holding the gun firmly as he navigate his way to the kitchen. He found Sam sitting in the kitchen, notes and books sprawled in front of him on the table.

"Hey Sammy." Dean greeted, tucking the gun in the small of his back.

"Oh, hey Dean." Sam said, his voice shaking slightly.

"Is something wrong Sam?"

"No, I'm fine Dean." Sam answered too quickly and continued, "I'm just tired, but I'm nearly done with this. Go back to sleep. I'll sleep soon too." Sam lied.

Dean stared at his brother, he knew he was lying but Dean let it slip since he was tired himself with his encounter with 'Sherlock' earlier.

"Yeah, okay." Dean said and turned back towards his bed.

That night, Dean kept staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep. There was a loud whooshing noise, but Dean ignored it –believing it was from the other motel guests. He didn't notice that night that Sam didn't return to his bed.

* * *

There was a whooshing outside of the motel. Soft blue lights illuminated the window and disappeared just before Dean came into the kitchen and Sam had feigned interest to the notes and books in front of him.

Sam decided to wait ten minutes, just to make sure his brother was already sleeping before checking out the source of the whooshing and blue lights. He stood up after seven minutes.

He carefully opened the door of their motel room, internally thanking the owner and maintenance that nothing creaked. He stepped out of the room and left the door slightly ajar. Sam looked around, observing the parking lot. The other motel rooms were closed; some only had a lamp illuminating the room.

Sam stepped out of the foyer when he heard a door open and closed, he looked at the source of the sound then a man's voice came.

"Oh, sorry. Wrong destination." A man said, he was clad in a long brown trench coat over a blue suit and he was wearing a...

"Red converse, really. What are you, a converse endorser?" Sam said.

The man was looking at him with widened eyes, then he asked, "Who are you?"

Sam stared at the man, then he answered, "Why should I tell you? You just stepped out of a 1950s London Police box. You're wearing converse shoes with a suit and trench coat. Sorry sir, but I was told not to talk to anyone I don't know and trust anyone immediately."

"Well, we're done with the talking part, I guess we'll get to trust part later on. I'm the Doctor, by the way, nice to meet you." The man- the Doctor- said, holding out his right hand for a handshake.

Sam didn't take the hand, instead he asked further, "Doctor? What Doctor?"

The man look at him with wide eyes again, but this time his eyes were filled with surprise. "Uh, uhm. You -you're supposed to say... Doctor Who?" the man said, scratching the back of his head in a nervous –or surprised manner.

"I'll only tell you this once: if you want to play games with a child, then you've come to the wrong one. I don't play games, I have more pressing matters to attend to." Sam said seriously.

"Yes, I get that. And it's the Doctor, just the Doctor."

"Huh." Sam scoffed and turned around to back inside the motel room.

"Wait!" The Doctor shouted as he ran towards the boy in front of him.

"Don't shout, you'll wake my brother!" Sam scolded.

"Sorry. But I have to ask. What's the date today?" the Doctor asked.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Sam shouted making his voice slightly lower in an attempt to not wake Dean.

"You know you're too young to curse, right?"

"Fuck that! I'm 11 years old. Whatever, its **October 10, 1994**. Will you go now? I thought there was something out here, I was mistaken."

"Ooooh, 1994! A very fine year. Thank you. I'll go now and step inside this box." The Doctor said, pointing at the Blue Box and smiling almost childishly at Sam.

The Doctor decided then to return to his TARDIS. Sam was fidgeting in his place, still not trusting the man in front of him and yet he had this urge to talk to him. So when the Doctor paused to fetch his key in his pockets, Sam ran up to him and held his hand out, "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. Sorry for being rude earlier, I guess I was just shocked, like I said, I dont usually talk to strangers."

"Does this mean I'm not a stranger to you anymore?" The Doctor asked.

"If you want to." Sam said shyly, turning his gaze downwards but still holding his hand out for a handshake.

The Doctor took Sam's hand and shook it firmly, "Fine by me. It's nice to meet you Sam Winchester."

"Likewise, Doctor... Wow, that's really weird, I feel like a patient."

"You'll get use to it, Sammy."

"No don't. Don't call me that." Sam said, shaking his head.

"Why? Do you want me to call you Samuel instead?" the Doctor asked, smirking.

"God no! Just Sam. I'm Sam, just Sam."

"Okay, Sam. Come on then, I'll show you around." The Doctor opened the TARDIS' door and stepped inside.

Sam frowned but followed the Doctor anyway, how exactly are they going to fit in _that _box? It's small and confining, even though Sam was still quite small there's no chance they would fi-

_Whoa! Hold that thought Sam. How did that happen?!_

Once inside the TARDIS, Sam's eyes widened, it was huge. Like spectacularly huge with a vertical tube with controls surrounding it in the center: a console. There was an opening that lead to a corridor. There was stairs that led to a basement under the console. The walls were adorned with round things and the lights were a bit orange-y but was still very light: it looked like a machine.

Sam stepped out again and looked at the box's exterior, he made sure it _was _the same London Police Box, the Doctor just keep looking at him, smiling as he leant on the railing at the TARDIS' doorway. Sam stepped inside again, this time with narrowed eyes as he looked intently at the Doctor.

"What is this? Who are you, really?" Sam asked, gripping the door open, ready to run if necessary.

"This is the TARDIS. It stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Specifically a Type 40 TARDIS. This machine was used by the Timelords of Gallifrey. It can take you anywhere in all of time and space. I'm the Doctor and I'm a Timelord, the last of the Timelords." The Doctor said. Sam noticed how his voice seem to falter when he said the last part.

"All of time and space?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"Sure! Where do you want to go?" the Doctor asked enthusiastically.

"I want to see Pluto." Sam said.

"I think you need to go and find more appropriate clothes for that, its pretty cold on Pluto." The Doctor said, looking at Sam's outfit. By God, the boy was wearing his PJs.

"I don't think I can return to the motel and leave again without being caught." Sam said.

"Hm. Yes, your brother." The Doctor looked at the motel through the TARDIS' still open door. "Well, I think you have to close that door first.

Sam beamed brightly at him before dashing to the motel door and softly closing it before he strode back to the TARDIS.

"Well, time and space. That means you can return me at the same time right?"

"Yes. Just make sure you remember the time and date." The Doctor beamed at him, he's really liking this boy.

"October 10, 1994. 1:37 in the morning." Sam said.

"Well come on then! I still have to take you to a market to buy you some more appropriate clothing, I don't think I have any to fit you. Never looked that small before." The Doctor said.

Sam was practically shaking in excitement as he watched the man –no the Timelord- in front of him run enthusiastically around the TARDIS' console, pushing buttons and pulling levers with his hands and sometimes his foot.

Sam gripped the railing tightly as the TARDIS groan and shook, all that time the Doctor was still smiling eagerly.

"Are you okay Sam? Don't worry it's fine, she's always like this." He reassured as the time machine continue to shake and groan.

"I'm good." Sam answered before the TARDIS stopped.

"Here we are then!" The Doctor said enthusiastically, already bounding to the door.

"Wait!" Sam called out and the Doctor stopped and turned to look at him.

The Doctor raised his eyebrow "Yes, Sam?"

"You still haven't told me what Timelords are."

"Oh." The Doctor said, the look in his eyes seems so distant suddenly, but Sam waited for him to answer.

"I'll tell you while we look for your clothes." He finally said and Sam smile at him, all teeth and dimples as the strode out to the market. The Doctor locked the TARDIS and he gestured for Sam to follow him The place is noisy and full of people –creatures from different planets. Sam doesn't know how he easily accepted all of this but he _is genuinely _enjoying himself.


	2. The Planet and The Murders

Sherlock's verse is set to Victorian Era like in the books. so i borrowed some characters in RDJ's Sherlock Holmes films. but its not that big.

* * *

Sam and the Doctor kept walking around the market side by side. Sometimes the Doctor would point at something and say some stuff about it. But the thing that kept Sam a bit suspicious was how they could read the words in the market when this was supposed to be an alien place.

"Doctor, are you sure you're not kidding? If we're in an alien market, how come I can read those," Sam said pointing at a certain store which sold old artifacts –some of which was glowing and some were emitting odd noises which made Sam frown in confusion, "That says 'The Red Market: Artifacts in tacked, get it in tow' –that's peachy. How can I read that? Hm?"

"Oh, that's the TARDIS translation circuit, it basically translates every language for you or any other person who had a ride in her. And by every, I meant every single language –"

"Every language? So I could be speaking in Latin right now? Like, exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas-"

"No, don't- don't do that, that's really not going to do it." The Doctor said, holding his hand over Sam's mouth but not quite blocking it, then he resort to holding up a finger, "It can translate everything except Gallifreyan." The Doctor explained.

"Oh, is that so." Sam said as they resumed walking, but it was not a question so the Doctor did not answer him.

"Why don't we exchange stories Sam? I'll tell you something about myself if you tell me something about you too."

" In the words of my great brother, 'no chick-flick' moments." Sam retorted and the Doctor laughed.

"That counts as one you know. Okay we Timelords have two hearts. Next!"

"Wait what?"

"You heard that right Sam. Timelords have two hearts, now tell me something about you, it's your turn."

"Well, uh, uhm I'm not really interesting you know? I live my life crashing in motel rooms from one place to another, my brother Dean is the one who always takes care of me. I guess he's my brother and father and mother at all the same time." Sam said, "I care for him so much."

"Well, you have Dean, never lose him." the Doctor smiled down at him, "I used to have people like Dean, you know. Some I left behind, some I couldn't save, some died as I continued to live and some had to forget me to have the life they deserved."

"Don't say that, no one knows what others deserve. The only one who knows that is the person himself." Sam said.

The Doctor look at Sam this time, really looked then he smiled _this boy is special_, he thought. And he was right of course. They continued to walk through the market until Sam got his appropriate clothing.

Once back inside the TARDIS, Sam realized that the Doctor wouldn't really say anything to him about the Timelords or his home planet, Gallifrey. Sam knew when to drop it, so he did this time.

"Are we going to Pluto now?" Sam asked instead.

"Do you know that some time in the near future, the solar System would 'disown' Pluto and deem it as a dwarf planet? Making the solar system just 8 planets." The Doctor said.

"Well that makes my argument and reason valid. At school, during Physics, the teachers would always be brief about Pluto, they just say that it was pretty cold there since it's too far to receive the sun's heat immediately. I felt like they ignored Pluto and that the solar system was a family and in the words of that thing from TV, family means no one gets left behind." Sam explained.

"You're right. And it's Lilo and Stich you're quoting." The Doctor said, approaching the console and slowly pushing buttons now and then as if he was taking his time to talk to Sam for a while.

"What?"

"That thing from the TV. It's called Stitch." He said, turning to look at Sam, "We can't land though, neither of us can survive the cold."

With that the Doctor resumed his work –he pushed buttons, pulled levers this time he even looked at a monitor Sam hadn't noticed earlier. The monitor showed the planet Pluto and Sam excitedly bounded to the Doctor's side.

"Is that it?!" Sam exclaimed ecstatically.

"Yes, we're going to hover above it, close enough that you can see at least the planet's surface, wear your jackets, okay?"

"Aye, captain." Sam said, walking to one of the bags and brought out his jacket, it fitted him just the right way, he put it over his shirt. The TARDIS shook slightly then stopped. The Doctor smiled in approval at the monitor then gestured for Sam to come over with him as he bounded off towards the door.

Sam pushed it open and marveled at the sight before him. Countless and billions of stars all twinkling at the same time, and there just a little distance below the TARDIS was Pluto.

Sam smiled so brightly as he looked down at the planet before him. It really was small compared to the other planets that you can still see in the distance but it was beautiful at the same time. Not the beautiful with so many colours and amazing features, it was beautiful in the simplest ways. Its white land creating a stark contrast against the darkness of the sky and the twinkling stars. "Its beautiful." Sam said while smiling down at the planet.

"I know." The Doctor simply said as he sat at the doorway looking down at the planet. "No one actually got to live there. Visit, yes. But just for a little while. The weather is adamant about keeping the planet all on its own and that no one can stay longer than at least 2 hours give or take. Even the creatures who could stand extreme coldness can't stand the temperature of Pluto."

"It must be lonely." Sam commented as he took a seat beside the Doctor.

"Oh, it's lonely alright. But the planet is content all on its own. But that doesn't mean she doesn't need any more than that. A few visits here and there cheers her up." The Doctor said, his eyes twinkling and Sam knew right there and then how wise the man in front of him was, how clever and experienced he was and it made Sam trust him even more.

"How would you know?" Sam asked. He stared at the planet, it looked like it was snowing and raining and anything-that-might-cause-coldness in there.

"Because the only thing about those beliefs humans have and what I believe to be correct," The Timelord paused and looked at Sam, "Is that everything in this universe has life. Even if you don't see it breathing, even if you say it's dying or it died -that means it had a life once. Every single thing. Even if the planet supposedly died, I hope and believe that it's still out there." the Doctor finished with a light chuckle.

Sam didn't answer but instead he contemplated on what the Doctor had told him. The silence was anything but awkward –it was comfortable, hell, it was companionable, it stretched for a while until Sam asked, "Do you think dead people go to heaven?"

"You know how sometimes people make things up in order to cope with something tragic?" The Doctor asked and Sam hummed his acknowledgement. "I don't believe in those things. What I'm trying to say is that it's an idea. A beautifully constructed idea. Much like the devil –it's an idea that people fed on for years. But that doesn't mean that it's not real."

"You're confusing, you know that." Sam said.

"I'm not. You're just not trying to understand me. But why would you asked?"

"You really don't know anything about me, Doctor." Sam sighed.

* * *

"Your family hunts creatures –anything bad that crawls during the night- that gives you a training on hand to hand combat, on how to carry yourself in a fight and while in danger. You'll do good, Dean."

Dean groggily woke up to that deep voice. Refusing to acknowledge it, he put a pillow over his head and tried to go back to sleep.

"Four missing people, all last seen leaving the church. The only thing connecting them is that their hearts were sent back to church and that they are obviously churchgoers. Pay attention to me. I should also say that the hearts are still intact."

Dean then sat up and threw his pillow at Sherlock who was sitting at the foot of his bed, "I thought I told you to fuck off."

"I thought I told you that I'll see you around." Sherlock retorted.

"Oh well, I'll say it again, fuck off."

"Do all Americans curse like a sailor at a young age? I tried not to believe that, don't make me, Dean Winchester."

"What do you want with me?" Dean asked. "And where's Sam?"

"Will you stop asking about your brother for a while and listen to me?" that got Dean's attention, "Four people went missing and their hearts was sent to the church where they were last seen, do you recognize it?"

"No."

"Dean-"

"No, Sherlock. Because the creatures that I know don't leave the hearts intact. Now can you leave?"

"Go get dressed. Here," Sherlock said, throwing a pair of trousers, a dress shirt, a suit jacket and a coat to Dean, "Wear that."

"Why?" Dean asked, looking at the clothes -they seem to fit him.

"You're coming with me. Don't be too hard on yourself I know you want to."

"What about Sam?"

"I'll return you at the same time. I promise, you'll be back in your world and no time would have passed."

That's all Dean needed to hear and he got out of bed, he continued to the bathroom figuring he couldn't take a shower -he washed his face and brushed his teeth before he put on the clothes. Like he said, they fitted him just the right way. Dean got out of the bathroom where Sherlock immediately threw a belt at him. Sighing exasperatedly, he put on the belt and sat in the side of his bed where a pair of black shoes was waiting for him.

"You brought all of this with you?" Dean asked.

"Hmm." Sherlock answered as he put Dean's book under his pillows. "That should do it."

"What should do it?"

"It's in my hypotheses that we need to leave the book where you want to return before you go to my world, so that you can go back to the same place too." Sherlock explained, "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Dean answered as he stood up and faced Sherlock.

The Detective held out his hand, Dean immediately took it and the next thing he knew he was at London and someone was running up to them like they hadn't just magically appeared.

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! I'm so glad I finally found you, your landlady told me you were on a trip." The man said, he was wearing an official looking uniform, his hat tucked under his arms.

"Constable Clark." Sherlock greeted.

"Yes, sir. Sir, Detective Inspector Lestrade requests your presence at Westminster Cathedral immediately." The constable said.

"Another one?"

The constable hesitated, looking suspiciously at Dean. "He's with me constable. It's alright." Sherlock said.

"I –uh yes, sir. The fifth one." The constable said, he was fidgety Dean observed, he seemed anxious about discussing the subject in public, they must be keeping it a secret until they can't hold back the information any longer. Dean understood, people would freak out if they knew that there had been multiple murders and the police can't do anything about it. Oh not to mention the heart thing.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked, making Dean frown at the question.

"Anderson, sir."

Sherlock huffed and said, "I can't go." Dean looked at him with wide eyes that said: _what, is this the childish petty feud?_

And Sherlock gave him a look that said, _yes._

"But sir, we require your assistance." Constable Clark argued.

"Yes, but I also _need_ an assistant." Sherlock insisted and Dean got it, he needed to pass as Sherlock's assistant in order to roam around London with him.

Constable Clark hesitated again but after a few fidgets here and there he agreed, "Okay, sir. Please be at the church immediately. I need to go now. Inspector Lestrade must be wondering what's taking me so long."

Sherlock nodded and the constable ran the other way, Sherlock gestured for Dean to follow him as they walked down the rest of the street, Dean had no idea what it was called.

"You didn't told me I was going to be your assistant!" Dean said, keeping his voice lower than he intended so as to not catch other people's attention that he was arguing with the great Sherlock Holmes or whatever.

"What else do you think I required Dean? Besides, that's just what people have to know. I can't just go around and say "hello, this is Dean he's from the real world, and did you know this world we live in is fictional?" people would get hysterical." Sherlock finished as he stepped into a foyer with the door marked with the famous adress: 221B

"Wow." Dean said, the argument with the world's only consulting detective completely forgotten.

"Close your mouth, flies might get inside, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't taste nice." Sherlock said in amusement as he held the door open for Dean to go in.

The young man let himself inside the flat. It was messy in an orderly fashion that was described in the books. The two were greeted by an elderly woman, she was smiling as she walked towards Sherlock and hugged him, "Hello, Sherlock, dear. That Constable Clark is looking for you, said that Inspector Lestrade wants to see you immediately."

"Yes, hello too, Mrs. Hudson. I met Constable Clark and we'll go to see Lestrade immediately. But I think Dean here would need breakfast first."

"Oh is this Dean? Nice to meet you, young man." Mrs. Hudson greeted and Dean smiled warmly at her.

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Hudson." Dean answered and Mrs. Hudson hugged him before ushering them into the kitchen.

"As you can see, the kitchen is pretty clean compared to the rest of the house." Mrs. Hudson said as she served the two their breakfast.

"That's because I was forbidden to execute my experiments at any point outside my bedroom." Sherlock commented helping himself to some bread.

"That would also help you acquire a flatmate, young man." Mrs. Hudson retorted, "Where did you met Dean here? He's too young, I bet he doesn't even work yet."

"Oh Dean is a friend, and yes he's pretty young he doesn't have to work, his family can support him." Sherlock lied smoothly. Dean didn't say anything and decided to rest his attention to the food in front of him.

"I see. Well, just leave your dishes in the sink after you're done eating, I need to clean the rest of the house, you know how you never clean, Sherlock." With that Mrs. Hudson departs the kitchen leaving Dean and Sherlock alone.

"That was a smooth lie." Dean commented.

"Nevermind that, eat quick, we have to go to the church immediately." Sherlock said, standing up, he called out of the window where a man shouted back.

"Prepare me a carriage, I need to go in 15 minutes." Sherlock ordered.

"Where to sir?" a man from outside the house asked.

"Westminster Cathedral." Sherlock said. Dean heard the man outside run off to somewhere as Sherlock returned to his seat.

"So these murders, how long have they been going on?" Dean asked.

"Every week. Victims disappear during Sunday after church service. Then the church will receive the heart at any time of the week."

"And no connection among the victims? Aside from the fact that they've all gone to church?"

"No." Sherlock answered. Dean continued to eat as he searched his brain for any memories of supernatural creatures he knew that could do this.

He found nothing, of course.


	3. Fictional Hearts

"What the hell is happening here?!" Father John Watson shouted, not even caring about his choice of words as he started walking from the altar to the Detective Inspector at the end of the pew. "This has been going on for weeks! Weeks! My church is in danger, fewer and fewer people attend the mass! This is ridiculous!"

If the Father -who once served as the priest for the soldiers in the Afghanistan war and a trained fighter as well- could whip out his gun and point and shoot his problem, or so help him.

"Father, we're sorry. But we're doing our best." DI Lestrade apologized. His attention divided when a carriage stopped at the entrance of the church, Sherlock Holmes and a younger looking man stepped out of it.

Sherlock nodded at the driver of the carriage and said something to his companion before they approached the priest and the DI side by side. The young man looked around the place, taking it in.

"Lestrade." Sherlock greeted.

"Sherlock. This is Father John Watson of Westminster Cathedral." Lestrade introduced and gave Dean a stern look, willing Sherlock to introduce his company.

"Hello, Father. This is Dean Winchester, a friend of mine from America -he arrived earlier this morning."

"A friend?" A woman's voice intervened. Speak of the devil.

"Yes, Donovan. Dean is a friend. His father and I have known each other for quite some time when I travelled to America when I was just a boy, and so is Dean's father when he studied here in London." Sherlock lied again, smoothly.

Dean nodded at the people in front of him. The woman, Donovan was joined by an equally shit-looking man who kept on trying to sass Sherlock off in vain.

"Anderson, stop trying to level me with your knowledge. We both know the heart was surgically removed, suggesting the killer is a surgeon with medical experience that allows him to work with such precision."

"So we're not just dealing with a psychopath, we're also dealing with a frigging doctor. Great!" Father John sarcastically said.

Lestrade ordered the two to get back to their work as Sherlock surveyed the Father in front of him. The Consulting Detective's eyes flickered here and there, noting tell - tale signs of the priest's life. Dean observed the interior of the church, it was beautiful really. The young hunter stared at the stained glass depicting the stories from the bible.

What caught Dean's attention was the black haired baby angel with blue eyes and folded black wings sitting beside a brown haired one with golden wings who smiled brightly at the blue winged angel in the center. The black haired baby angel seemed to be looking right through Dean with his intense, electric blue eyes and Dean couldn't shake the feeling of the angel until he was snapped out of his reverie when Sherlock's voice boomed in the otherwise silent church.

"Tell me Father, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Im sorry, what?" Father John asked, confused.

"Where did you served as a priest, doctor and soldier. Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. I'm sorry how did you-"

"Dean, how do you feel about some running around in London? I need to drop by St. Barts."

Dean looked at Sherlock then nodded, "Sure, sure. Lead the way."

"Brilliant! Let's go. It was nice meeting you Father. See you soon." Sherlock said. Dean gave the priest a smile and nod as his own goodbye before following the Consulting Detective outside and into London's cool air.

"So, what's up with the priest?" Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows at Sherlock.

The detective sighed and hailed a passing carriage with no passenger.

"St. Barts Hospital" the driver gave a curt nod and Sherlock opened the door for Dean then he answered: "Nothing, he's a priest, soldier and a doctor who served in Afghanistan and retired when he was shot in the left shoulder." He got in once Dean was seated and continued his deduction. "He has a slight gait on his steps suggesting he has a limp; a psychosomatic limp but he has it under control, it was caused by the wound on his shoulder."

Dean huffed and shifted his coat so he could cross his leg and sit back on his seat. "And what is waiting at St. Barts?"

"The hearts." Sherlock answered excitedly.

The carriage stopped to give way at the crossing for vendors carrying their goods across the street, a man jumped to the window at Dean's side of the carriage and continued to bounce excitedly on his feet.

"Mr. Holmes! Thanks be to the Lord, I don't have to go to your flat anymore to give this to you." The man holds a posh and official looking envelope towards Dean to pass to Sherlock. "It's an invitation from Lord Moran."

Sherlock accepted the envelope with a gloved hand, sparing Dean a glance before asking. "Why is the good Lord Moran wishing for my presence at his manor? Is there a special event?"

"Yes sir," the man nodded. "Lord Moran will have a dinner party. A very important friend of his arrived and he'd like him to get to know his acquaintances."

"I see. Well then, thank you. And please send my regards to Lord Moran as well."

"Of course, Mr. Holmes." The man said and retreated as the carriage started to move again.

Dean was getting worked up by the occasional rattling of the vehicle causing his expression to scrunch up in an annoyed manner. "Who's Moran?" he asked.

"_Lord _Moran. It's Lord Moran when you're out in public, Dean."

"Oh yeah sure. Wait." Dean leaned in, dropping the volume of his voice. "Lord Moran as in Sebastian Moran?"

When Sherlock gave a curt nod of confirmation and put the invitation in his coat pocket Dean blurted out. "Holy shit, Sherlock!"

"Yes, Dean. I know."

"Holy- really?! And what, you're going to that dinner party?"

"No." Sherlock smirked, "_We're _going."

Dean gave him his own bitch face. Was he really requesting Dean to attend the dinner party with him, the dinner party of a man who tried to kill Sherlock for a second time in the books? Well if this wasn't nuts Dean didn't know what was.

"That's nuts! He'll-"

Sherlock kicked his foot to shut him up, "He's not going to do anything yet. We're not in that story."

"But we're in the same book."

"Shut up, will you? We cannot risk talking about it in a public place."

"Whatever you say, but I'm not going to that bastard's dinner party." Dean pouted, he crossed his arms and stared aimlessly through the window beside him –watching the pathway filled with people, men in coat and hat, women wearing dresses with corsets. _Victorian Era, huh_. Dean thought

What Dean didn't notice was the man who was watching the whole exchange as they passed by the red and blue coloured house.

* * *

Sam followed the Doctor as he paced around the interior of the TARDIS. "I really hope you're not hungry yet, Sam. It has been ages since I used the kitchen."

"Nah, I'm good. Where to now?"

"I don't know! But that's where the fun lies isn't it? Surprises!" The TARDIS started humming and groaning, Sam held on to the controls, smiling like a child on Christmas day.

"Where did you set it?"

"I'm hoping I can introduce you to a friend of mine." The Doctor answered and the TARDIS stopped moving.

"Yeah? Who would that be?"

"I don't know." The Doctor cryptically answered. "Mahatma Gandhi?"

Sam looked shocked, his eyes going comically wide while his mouth hung in an open smile. "You're kidding."

"We'll see!" The Doctor said walking to the door with a bounce in his steps. He held it open for Sam who grinned brightly and ran to him. They stepped out of the Time Machine together and into an alleyway. Up ahead in the distance, Sam saw people in coats and dresses walking –horse carriages passing by.

"Oh blimey!" The Doctor said laying a hand on the closed door of his TARDIS. "I wonder why you took us here."

"Is this…" Sam frowned and look up to the Doctor. "London?"

"Yeah."

"Wow! It looks like this in Dean's books!" Sam said, now striding down the street with the Doctor close behind him.

"What book?"

"Dean _loves _Vonnegut, but he adores the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle especially the Sherlock Holmes novels." Sam said, smiling proudly. "Dean is very smart, he just don't let it on."

The Doctor hummed his acknowledgment. "Well, lets see what year it is so we'll know if we get to meet Arthur, maybe we can get an autographed copy for your brother."

"Cool! Lets go!' Sam said before pausing on his heels. "Don't we uh- look different from these people?"

"That jacket should do it for an 11 year old like you." The Doctor said, "I have this coat for me and just walk like you own the place. It works for me." The Doctor winked and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, leading the boy out of the alleyway and noting what it was called so they wouldn't lose the TARDIS.

Out in the busy streets with throngs of people striding and minding their own business. The Doctor caught a newspaper from the vendor to the side of him and read the headline quickly, taking the date in and some events.

The Doctor returned the paper and led Sam the other way, "July 17, 1887. And a certain Lord Moran is going to host a dinner party tomorrow night at his Manor."

"Wait, what? Did you just say Moran?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"Moran as in-" but before Sam could finish a man started shouting, brandishing a placard with the words _"Another attack at the church!"_

"Another attack! Another heart was sent to Westminster! Another attack!..." he goes on and people started to gather around him, asking questions about the abrupt news.

The Doctor frowned at that and kept young Sammy close to his side, he looked down at the boy and mumbled "Stay close, Sammy boy."

Sam nodded and watched the Doctor talk to a man in his mid 40s by the looks of it.

"Uhm- excuse me sir. I just returned from a trip and quite behind of some events. But what's happening to the church?" The Doctor asked.

The man fidgeted and put his hand in his pockets before leaning in to the Doctor as if talking about conspiracies. "It's the Westminster Church. Visitors and churchgoers are disappearing from there every Sunday after mass. And then days later a heart is sent to the church, the heart of the victim. This is the fifth one." The man finished gesturing at the huddled people talking about it.

"And what about the police?"

"Nothing. They found nothing."

"I see." The Doctor shook his head. "Thank you sir."

The man bowed his head and spared the people a glance, shaking his head and walk away. Which left the Doctor and Sam outside the huddled group of people talking in either loud or hushed tones.

"Hearts sent to the church. Sounds like someone wants Sunday terror." Sam commented. "This isn't anything I know."

"Hm, what is it that you know?" The Doctor asked.

"Creatures that definitely do _not _leave the heart untouched." Sam answered.

"Well, lets go then." The Doctor led Sam passed the gossiping crowd of people but Sam stopped in his tracks when he caught a name.

_"__Detective Inspector Lestrade doesn't know what is happening! Scotland yard has no clue!"_

_"__And where is that private detective they are consulting -what was the name? The one who lives at Baker Street?"_

_"__Sherlock Holmes!"_

_"__Yeah, where's Sherlock Holmes!?"_

_"__I saw him at the church earlier, he must be helping the police solve this case too!"_

A loud noise from a whistle interrupted the people's exchange and they all ran off their own separate ways as officials appeared at the end of the street shouting for them to go back to their own businesses.

"Stop talking about things you're not supposed to talk about!" A constable with a moustache and face reddened with anger shouted and the people dispersed. Leaving a clean street and people resuming their businesses.

"Doctor, Doctor!" Sam said, pulling at the Doctor's coat to catch his attention as they stood on the pathway, backs against the wall. "You heard those people, right? Why did they say Sherlock Holmes, and Detective Inspector Lestrade? Those guys are fictional! They live in Dean's book!"

The Doctor shushed him, putting a finger in his own mouth –gesturing for Sam to shut up. "I don't know, but we'll see."

The Doctor strode to the officer, head held high to show an air of dominance as he clasped Sam's hand and pull the boy to a step beside him. "Hello officer, I'm Detective Inspector John Smith." The Timelord introduced, brandishing a leather holder with a blank paper to Sam –but the Constable hummed in acknowledgment- "May I ask, exactly, what is happening here?"

"It's Constable Clark, sir. It's the church sir. Uh- its a case I think you should discuss at Scotland Yard with Detective Inspector Lestrade, sir." The Constable said, fidgeting and wary of the people who's trying to be inconspicuous while they listen at the conversation.

"Oh of course, yes. And is it true there's a new… attack?"

"Yes, sir. Do you require a ride to the yard?" the officer offered, "I could request a carriage for you."

"No its alright, I'll manage. Besides I'm not really here for a job I just inquired. I'm merely showing the place to my son." The Doctor said and tipped his head at Sam's direction.

"Oh well, have a safe trip, sir. I need to go now." Constable Clark bid his goodbye to the Doctor and Sam and ordered for his men to go back to their positions and others back to the yard.

Sam rounded to the Doctor. "Are we…?"

"In a fictional world?" The Doctor said –his eyes following the movements of the officers as they disappear at the end of the street. "I think so, yes." He smiled down at Sam who grinned back at him.


	4. The Timelord, the Consulting

_**Chapter 4: The Timelord, the Consulting Detective and the Winchesters**_

"Woooooow." Sam said. He and the Doctor were walking down the streets of Victorian London en route to Baker Street to try to shed some light on these events with the help of the Consulting Detective who resided there.

"Yes. But how?!" The Doctor turned to Sam, slightly frantic -waving and gesturing with his hands. "How did we even got here? I mean it's a fictional world! The rift to get here should not be open, we shouldn't even be here!"

"Keep your voice down!" Sam said, raising his voice to drown out the Doctor's and avoid some weird looks from people around them.

"Right, sorry." The Doctor said. "This is just… so different. There's no planet like this."

"Yeah I get that. But hey, we're looking for Sherlock Holmes. Maybe he could help."

The Doctor suddenly stopped walking but Sam continued until he realized the Doctor had paused and he had to take a few paces back towards him. "Or we could go back to TARDIS." The Timelord suggested.

"We both know you don't want that, come on! Sign says we're on the right street." Sam said, pointing at the street sign hanging above their heads. The Doctor looked up then grinned.

"Alright, lets go!"

A few steps later and counting the houses' door numbers, the two found themselves at the foyer of 221B Baker Street. The number was golden and engraved into the black door with a knocker below it. The Doctor stepped up with Sam close behind him, he gripped the knocker but before he could put it back to knock the door suddenly opened –revealing an elderly woman with a kind smile.

"Hello sir. What can I do for you?"

"Uhm- is Sherlock Holmes at home?" The Doctor frowned at the rhyme in his words but the woman chuckled.

"He's not, he's out because of that attack again. I'm Mrs. Hudson, his landlady. If you want I can say you paid a visit Mr…?" Mrs. Hudson said, leaving the end of her sentence open for the man to supply his name.

"Oh no!" the Doctor shook his head, "I'll just go back. I'd like to see him in person. It's uh- a delicate matter."

"I see." Mrs. Hudson turned her head to the side, wondering.

"Yes. Uh- we'll be going now. Sorry to disturb you." The Doctor said and nodded his goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson was about to close the door but the man started speaking again, "Mrs. Hudson…?"

"Yes, dear?"

"The church, which one is it?"

"Oh! It's Westminster Cathedral." Mrs. Hudson answered.

"Ooooh. Thank you."

"That's alright. Although I wouldn't go there right now if I were you. The police are investigating again."

The Doctor nodded, "Yeah, definitely not planning to."

Mrs. Hudson chuckled before finally closing the door. The Doctor flagged the passing empty carriage before Sam jumped to bring the Doctor's hand down. "Do you even have money?" the younger Winchester asked in concern.

The Doctor frowned, thinking, before digging into his pockets -he brought out a few pennies and showed them to Sam who sighed. "Come on, I have a few dollars lets exchange them at the bank."

"Right, money. Never been a problem before." The Timelord said, looking a bit disappointed.

"Nuh uh, none of that, lets go!" Sam cheerfully said before dragging the Doctor to the bank at the corner of the street.

The two didn't notice the man in a trench coat, tilting his head and looking at them with wonder in his eyes, hidden across the street.

* * *

Dean walked through the corridor of St. Barts with Sherlock Holmes beside him. Sherlock had his coat dramatically whipping behind him causing Dean to roll his eyes.

Honestly, even if he idolized the man he didnt peg him for being such a drama queen. But hey, he's enjoying this.

"What are you going to do with them exactly?"

"Examine the hearts. It might give us some clues." Sherlock answered. He hurriedly opened the next door and strode directly to the woman sitting behind a lab table. "Ah Molly, great, I need to see the victims' hearts."

"Uhm- who is he?" Molly pointed at Dean who was standing beside Sherlock, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Molly he's not my son. He's a friend of mine Dean Winchester." Sherlock said, rather bored of the constant question and repetitive introductions –and by gods, Molly thinking that Dean is his son.

"Hi." Dean smiled before Sherlock persisted.

"Molly I need to see the hearts."

"Yes, alright. Sorry, wait." Molly hurriedly stood up and went to collect the hearts for Sherlock. The organs each carefully kept in a container to keep it fresh and to preserve any clues that might be in there.

With the hearts laid out in front of him, Sherlock put on a pair of surgical gloves and turned on the light beside him.

"Wow, old stuff huh." Dean commented, fiddling with an old fashioned laboratory tool.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, he saw the equipment humanity had invented at Dean's time and yes, they were very efficient. Sadly, he couldn't stay at that point in time. Especially since he was not meant to be there.

The Consulting Detective held a magnifying glass close to the heart. Noting the protruding veins and clogged arteries.

"This one suggests a heart attack as a cause of death, before the heart was removed..." Sherlock noted the way the heart was cut out, "...surgically."

Leaning back in his chair, Dean threw his head back looking at the ceiling. "What could possibly be the cause of that heart attack? Is the attacker so ugly that the victim got so horrified at his face?" Dean said, meaning the last part as a joke.

"Yes."

"What?" Dean scrambled to his feet, looking at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"Yes, you're right. The attacker looked so hideous that this victim -Louie Jones, 58- died. Aside from his age and an obvious heart disorder, that fact is one of the reasons of his heart attack."

"Ugh, ew." Dean sat back, making a face at that little fact in their case. "Not a wendigo though. I mean, sure, they look awful but they don't leave anything behind."

"Wendigo?" Sherlock asked, interested.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Creature who eats people to keep themselves alive. They believe it gives them strength, speed and if you eat enough -immortality. Wendigo is a Cree Indian word meaning "evil that devours". But they usually dwell in forests to avoid human attention, you know how humans can kill when they all cooperate for the same cause. The witches around 14th or 15th century is the proof of that."

Sherlock barely shook his head at the new information before returning his attention to the evidence in front of him. He turned to examine the other two to confirm what he found on the first one. "There are... claw marks. Barely visible, but there is."

Dean stood behind him and Sherlock handed him the magnifying glass, leading his hand to where he found the marks on each heart. There were nail - like scratch marks on them. Like a pointed something scratched at it before it stopped or was held back.

"Yeah, those are claw marks."

"The length of each and the depth at the beginning and at the end suggests that the clawing was stopped... before the heart was removed."

"Surgically."

"Yes. Meaning there isn't only one." Sherlock turned to Dean. "If the creature who made these claw marks was stopped -"

Dean interrupted him, voicing his thoughts out loud. "There has to be someone to stop him. Because this types of creature doesn't have the will power to stop himself."

Sherlock nodded, turning his attention back to the table.

"But why? Why return the hearts back to the church?" Dean asked.

"Trophies. He's taking them out and sending them to the church as a trophy. Every criminal likes to have a signature. They all want to be recognized, be famous with their crimes." Sherlock clenched his fist. "This one definitely likes to be known."

Dean pinched his nose and sighed through his teeth. "Well that sucks."

"Typical thinking of a psychopath." Sherlock said, gesturing off handedly.

"And a monster this time." Dean said, putting both hands on his waist.

Sherlock proceeded to close the lid of each container with the heart inside, piled them side by side and left them on the table. He fetched his trench coat and called out to Molly.

"I'm done, Molly. You can return them back."

"Thank you, Molly." Dean said to the woman who nodded back and quickly followed Sherlock outside.

"Where to now?"

"Back to Baker Street. We still have to deal with the dinner party."

"Oh noooo. I told you I am _not_ going in there!" Dean whined, stomping his feet before dragging them instead of walking properly.

"I didn't know you can be really petulant, Dean."

The elder Winchester rolled his eyes before gripping the right arm of Sherlock's coat and started whining again. "Sherlawwwwk, puh-lease puh-please puh-PLEASE!"

Sherlock merely turned his head away from him before darting off down the corridor and back out into the street, running quickly and nearly had Dean falling on his face.

"Oh real mature, Sherlock! REAL MATURE!"

Sherlock just playfully saluted at him at the entrance of the hospital and Dean dragged his feet again, slowly walking towards the detective to irritate him. But Sherlock just crossed his arms and smirked at Dean, not having any of his shit.

* * *

The Doctor and Sam found themselves sitting on the pavement across from Sherlock Holmes' flat at Baker Street, unsuccessfully exchanging Sam's money to pounds when they both realized Sam was from the 20th century. Well, not really _them_ \- they hadn't realized, but the woman at the bank did.

_"What kind of money is that?!" The woman asked._

_Sam quickly pocketed his money, realizing his mistake. "Oh it's uh- play money. I think my brother exchanged it for the real one. I'm so sorry." Sam said, sheepishly smiling at the woman as he backed away from the counter and grabbed the Doctor's arm -dragging him out of the establishment._

_"Weeell! I didn't see that one coming." The Doctor said._

_"Me too. Now how do we go there?"_

_"You know, I should've accepted that Constable's offer."_

_"Yeah, you should have." Sam said._

_"Let's just wait for our Consulting Detective then."_

The two stood up, patting their backs to remove the dirt from the pavement when a black carriage stopped in front of 221B, Sherlock stepped out of it followed by another person-

_Wait for it…_

"Dean?!" Sam said, eyes widening and looking shocked.

The Doctor stared at Sam, then back to Sherlock and the man- no, a boy standing beside him who had the same look when the carriage took its leave and he could see the others across the street.

"Sammy?!"

"Dean!" Sam ran to his brother, looking at each side of the road to see if it was safe to cross.

Dean hugged his brother. "Sammy, wha- how?"

The Doctor caught up to Sam and look at Sherlock up and down as the detective stared at the brothers then turn his attention to the man in a long brown trench coat with his hair sticking out, making it look like he kept running his fingers through it -and return his unwavering gaze.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor." The Timelord cheerfully introduced, holding his hand out.

"Because of him." Sam nodded at the Doctor's direction to answer his brother's question.

Sherlock took the man -the Doctor's hand and shook it firmly. "Sherlock Holmes." He spared Dean a glance before declaring, "I think we should talk about this inside."

They all nodded and followed Sherlock inside where Mrs. Hudson served them tea after informing Sherlock that they're the ones looking for him earlier.

Sherlock crossed his legs and put his cup of tea on the small table beside him in the living room. The Winchesters were sitting on the couch while the Doctor sat across from them.

"So how did you two get here? You are surely not of this world."

"We're not. I'm a Timelord, from planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous. That is Sam Winchester, he's from the 1994-"

"Wait!" Dean interrupted. "How come you're here?"

"How come _you're _here, Dean?" Sam bitchfaced at his brother.

"That's not important, Sammy."

"And why I got here is _oh so_ important?"

"Of course it is! You're eleven years old, bitch."

"You're fifteen, jerk."

"THE TARDIS!" The Doctor interrupted before it got too heated between the brothers. "It stands for Time and Relative Dimension In Space. I was hoping to give Sam a tour in all of time and space but she took us here. In a fictional world."

Sherlock put his hands in a prayer- like pose under his chin. "How?"

"We don't know. How did Dean get here?"

"Isn't there supposed to be a barrier or something that divides my world from yours?" The Detective asked, putting his elbows on his knees to look and listen closely to the Doctor.

"Yes, there's supposed to be a rift." The Timelord answered. "And there must be something wrong with it. Because I couldn't travel through it before. But now I can, whether intentionally or not."

Sherlock delved into his mind, deciding whether or not to trust this man. The information he held was astounding and it explained how Sherlock could hop into reality then back to his own fictional world. Wearily, Sherlock decided to trust the man named the Doctor- a Timelord as he claimed to be- Sherlock emerged from his mind palace and back into the present.

"Hm." Was all Sherlock said before he stood up and started pacing around the room. "That must be how."

"How what?" Sam asked.

"How you can get back in and out." Dean said, staring at the floor in front of him.

"Yes, that must be it."

"Be what?"

Sherlock rounded on the Doctor. "I can get in and out of this world. Last time I chose to get out, I brought Dean back to assist me."

"That must be how Sam and I got passed the rift!"

"Quite possibly." Sherlock said.

"But how?! How can you get out of this world in the first place?" the Doctor asked, now standing in excitement too.

"It's my book. The Sherlock Holmes books I bought. It's like Sherlock's passage in and out." Dean answered.

"Yes. I think of it, and wherever the book is I appear at that place. I know Dean is the owner because I can sometimes hear him reading the book." Sherlock said. "I discovered I could get in and out when I got into the recesses of my mind where I once thought that all of this may not be real. And then after that, that's all I do to use it."

The Doctor nodded slowly, understanding the repercussions of this event. "If it's only you, Sherlock -the only fictional character who can do this- then the only reason this happened is because the TARDIS followed another open rift. That is because you recently used it to transport yourself and Dean back to this world."

The three were listening to him intently so the Doctor continued, "Which means, there's actually no reason to close the rift. Since you can always open it at will." the Timelord finished, pointing a finger to Sherlock.

"Yes, well. We can always think of that later. Right now, I have a killer and monster to catch. Not to mention a dinner party to attend." Sherlock said. "Wherein Dean and I have to attend."

"We'll attend too." The Doctor said, smiling.

"You can't, you don't have an invitation." Sherlock countered, walking to his bedroom.

"Actually, we do." The Doctor said, holding his psychic paper out.

All three of them answered. "That paper is blank."

"Oh no its not. Trust me." The Doctor grinned. "Its really not."

* * *

Back at the red and blue house Sherlock and Dean passed by earlier, Mr. Novak was greeted warmly by his butler. "Mr. Novak, an invitation has arrived from the good Lord Moran. Inviting you to his dinner party tomorrow night at his manor."

"Yes." Mr. Novak said, "Thank you."

Mr. Novak was really _Castiel_, an angel of the Lord. He had to take the great-great-grandfather of his vessel to guard Dean and, apparently, his brother in this world. He knew Dean couldn't see him, now is not the right time to meet. But he had to secure his safety.

Which meant he had to attend this dinner party.

Searching the mind of his vessel to see what he ought to do, Castiel ordered his butler. "Please prepare me a tuxedo for tomorrow night. I will be resting in my room, since it's already nearing the night and I'm tired from my walking earlier, so please do not disturb me."

"Of course, Mr. Novak."

Once in Mr. Novak's room, Castiel stared at his vessel's face. This man looked almost exactly the same as Jimmy Novak -the vessel Castiel knew he will use to save and meet Dean Winchester- except this one had his hair tamed. Must be the year, Victorian Era London has men with class and fine combed hair.

Mr. Novak was merely known as Mr. Novak throughout London. He was a wealthy businessman who just very recently arrived to check his business here in London. So Castiel will just use that information.

He hoped he didn't have to socialize tomorrow night, he doesn't really know what to do.


	5. The Dinner Party

"Frigging hell everybody. I look good in a suit!" Dean declared. Albeit he and Sammy were young, fifteen and eleven who had never worn clothes like this in reality- hello there!

With sleeping in one motel to another, a new school every new town, always being the new kid Sam always wore Dean's old clothes. Although Sammy was starting to grow fast now -leaving Dean to solve that problem. They never really had the luxury of wearing such fancy clothes. Dean couldn't even see it in their future. They may need covers while hunting but they were just cheap suits and fake ID's- nothing like this.

This isn't real. _Come on._

Sherlock got him a black suit with a red tie and insisted that he put on a black waistcoat too. In that era, teenagers like Sam and Dean were expected to wear suits. Carry the clothes with elegance and charm which both boys definitely did not lack.

The Doctor handed Sam a pair of light grey trousers and suit, a dark blue tie and grey waistcoat to match the white shirt. Sam quickly dressed up in the bathroom and pushed his brother away from the mirror. Looking at his reflection -he started combing his hair, bangs carefully styled around his forehead. The suit fit him well.

"We have thirty minutes until the dinner party. Now, do not focus on the event itself. We need to see what Moran is up to." Sherlock said. The Consulting Detective was wearing a purple shirt and a black waistcoat, his jacket carefully folded and laid on his arm. Unlike the others he didn't wear a tie or anything and left the top button of his shirt open.

"Of course, I assume you know what happened in the book." The Doctor said, tying his silk black tie with a final tug and turned to the other. "We should go."

Sherlock strode to the door, opening it for the others and bade their goodbyes to Mrs. Hudson. Outside a black carriage awaited them and the brothers quickly hopped in, followed by the two older fellows.

Everyone was silent on their ride to Moran's Manor. Sherlock stared out of the window beside him, one hand closed and placed in front of his mouth, thumb under his chin while the other rested on the knee of his crossed legs. Dean was right, if Moran was present in this story they were all in danger.

Not to mention, Sherlock had no concrete idea of who was the important person Moran would introduce tonight. Is it Moriarty? Sherlock knew its probable but he had to see him first. He knew he was invited for a reason and if it really _was_ Moriarty then he would be in for a fight he saw coming later -not sooner.

The Detective also gathered the information that another important person had set foot in London a few days ago. The young Mr. Novak, the wealthy businessman from America who inherited the family business at such a young age. Managing banks and law firms in America and Europe but never revealing his first name to anyone Sherlock assumed wasn't worthy. After all, fear comes with not knowing who you're facing.

Their carriage fell in line with those leaving its passenger directly in front of the house's door. The Doctor looked slightly bored as though he had seen all of this before. Which, knowing the Timelord, he probably had. Sherlock wondered how many events like this the Doctor has attended, or if he had any idea of what might happen tonight. Thinking back, he probably didn't. After all, it was the Doctor's first time traveling in a fictional world.

Sam stared outside at the well-kept garden and steel bars with intricate designs caging the property from the outside. He noticed symbols, which weren't wrong -just incomplete- carved atop each pointed end of the bars on the gate. Sam wondered if Moran knew his symbols were incomplete or he intended it to be that way -not knowing their meaning or what they represented.

Dean's line of sight was directed to the people who were stepping out of their own carriages slowly. Too frigging slowly. It was not like they were so old and their dresses so valuable that they needed three people to assist them. Dean would never understand humans, at least some of their tics like this one. Rolling his eyes, Dean gave a small sigh that they were finally close to the door -the royal blue carriage with silver linings on its windows and door the only thing blocking their way.

Keeping his gaze on the said carriage, Dean's eyebrows rose at the man who stepped out of it. He was tall -about Sherlock's height- with dark hair and blue eyes that accidentally stared at Dean's own green ones as he closed the door of his carriage. Those piercing blue eyes quickly snapped away from his, like the man was shocked at the encounter. He was wearing a tailored midnight blue suit to match his eyes which hugged his body perfectly and Dean noticed the shining black lapels and silk light blue tie around his neck.

Dean thought the air shifted around the man as he squared his shoulders and started walking towards the entrance. Dean frowned and kept following the man with his gaze until he disappeared inside and their own carriage door was opened.

With the four having discussed their cover earlier they all stepped out of the carriage. Dean by Sherlock's side and Sam by the Doctor's, they strode proudly to the door. A man in a black suit greeted them, asking for their invitations. Sherlock handed his, he ignored the man as he read his invitation –instead the detective let his eyes roam the crowd gathered at the huge and grand room of Moran's manor, the owner himself chatting from one person to another.

"Welcome to the party, Mr. Holmes and young Mr. Winchester. Enjoy the night." The man said, giving the invitation back to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded and walked inside the room with Dean beside him. Moran's head turned to them and he smiled. Sherlock could see him excusing himself from the people around him and making his way to Sherlock and his company.

"Welcome, Mr. Smith and another young Mr. Winchester. I don't suppose you are related to the company of Mr. Holmes?" they heard the man at the door say and Dean started to stiffen beside him, Sherlock let his arm brush against Dean –willing him to calm down and signaling him to Moran's moves.

"No. Must be a coincidence. Sam is my nephew. I don't suppose Mr. Holmes' company is of any relation to him." The Doctor said.

They were later joined by the Doctor and Sam. The Doctor smiling smugly –he told them his psychic paper would work. And not that the man's suspicious question couldn't be thrown off by some air of authority.

The Doctor noticed Moran who was slowly approaching them, making his way slowly through the crowd as he continued to greet and excuse himself from the people. The four chose to meet Moran halfway through the crowd, saving them and their suspect the energy of waiting and navigating.

"Mr. Holmes. I'm glad you answered my invitation." Moran greeted then he turned to the Doctor. "I'm assuming my friend invited you. He can be a real controlling person sometimes. He didn't even informed me."

The Doctor just gave a curt nod and before he could answer, the same man in a midnight blue suit from earlier started to descend the stairs, a man closely trailing behind him.

Sherlock observed Moran's expression, frustrated that the man seemed to be on guard too. Well this could be a rather tedious night if neither of them gave up. The Winchester boys were silent beside him. Dean with his jaw clenched and a sense of recognition emitting from his green eyes as he stared at the man descending the stairs. Sherlock huffed, what could be so important about that man?

"Ah, Mr. Novak…" Moran trailed off, waiting for the man to get closer to them.

Oh, so that's it, isn't it? This was Mr. Novak. How quaint. Dramatic entrance through the staircase. What else would he pull off tonight?

The man seemed to have trouble controlling the air of dominance and confidence around him as he continued to stare down at people with a slightly raised left eyebrow. He didn't even smile. But despite all that, the people around him seemed to respect him and adore him.

But Dean wasn't having any of that. He knew something was off about the man. Damn it, what's wrong with his damn shoulder and the air around him? He looked arrogant and unmovable, sure. But Dean knew that it was not the end of it. He grew up surrounded by weird, suspicious stuff. This was not an exception.

"Lord Moran. Thank you for inviting me. And please excuse my… blatant refusal of talking earlier." Mr. Novak said. His deep, gravelly voice a beautiful melody to match the rest of his appearance. The American turned to them, "You must be the great Sherlock Holmes. It's a real pleasure to meet you, sir." Mr. Novak said, holding his hand out at Sherlock.

It didn't escaped the detective's notice that Moran clenched his jaw in irritation and a flash of something crossed his eyes. He smugly smirked and took the offered hand at him.

"I could say the same about you, Mr. Novak."

"And you seem familiar… Mister…?" Mr. Novak said, turning to the Doctor.

The Doctor grinned and held his hand out too. "John Smith. This is my nephew –Sam Winchester."

The Doctor rolled with it. Sherlock was playing his game wonderfully against Moran. And the party's host was clearly irritated –but pretty good at hiding it too. Mr. Novak was different, that, the Doctor could tell. But how different? He couldn't tell yet.

Mr. Novak shook his hand and turned to Sam, briefly addressing him. "Pleased to meet you too, Sam."

"And I you, Mr. Novak." The younger Winchester politely answered.

Which left Dean the only one not talking. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him but this man was setting his nerves on fire and he was yet to decide if it was irritation or acknowledgement of this someone _else _in front of him.

Sherlock patted Dean's back and started to introduce him. "This is Dean Winchester. And no, no relation to our young Sam here. He was a son of my friend from America."

Mr. Novak's face slipped into an amused knowing look before going back to his stoic demeanor. A thing that set Dean on edge again. He didn't know if Sherlock noticed it too. But he should, right? He was Sherlock Holmes, for god's sake. With gritted teeth Dean politely offered his hand and said, "Its nice to meet you, Mr. Novak."

Mr. Novak shook his hand firmly, "A pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Dean Winchester." And for the first time that night, he smiled.


End file.
